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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28769631">Put a Tune On, Baby (And Stay Close to Me)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaNaturalBreezeOf_Books/pseuds/LaNaturalBreezeOf_Books'>LaNaturalBreezeOf_Books</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Last Shadow Puppets</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Ambiguous Banter, Dad Dancing, Incorrect French, Intimacy, Just a normal evening, M/M, Singing, Strong Language, ambiguous romance, an education in music, just mates that give each other lap dances</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 05:55:03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,282</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28769631</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaNaturalBreezeOf_Books/pseuds/LaNaturalBreezeOf_Books</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Miles wishes he could say he’s had a few. Wouldn’t it just be easier to throw blame at two empty bottles of wine and laugh it off? Probably, most definitely. Yes.</i> </p><p>Or</p><p>They dance together.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Miles Kane/Alex Turner</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>47</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Put a Tune On, Baby (And Stay Close to Me)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>“What do DJs mean when they say, ‘Fellas, are you ready for this one?’”</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Miles wishes he could say he’s had a few. Wouldn’t it be easier to throw blame at two empty bottles of wine and laugh it off? Probably, most definitely. Yes.</p><p>He’s not entirely sober, no, and there’s no empty bottles of wine. There is one though, a half empty bottle of Merlot that’s lasted throughout dinner, but he’s not the only one responsible. The other culprit is bending over the cabinet, the smooth mahogany encasing everything that has no real place around the house. Bulky candles, wedding photos, greeting cards stuffed behind more greeting cards stuffed behind the odd birthday one, and the usual bank statements. It’s a home, no reason why it should be anything else.</p><p>Of course, there are those massive surround-sound speakers, but that’s not such a strange sight to see anymore. It works wirelessly, connecting via Bluetooth, and now through a hybrid record player that Miles remembers setting up with a shudder. The effort it took to properly wire the bloody thing all those months ago was worth it for the reaction he got from Alex.</p><p>That slightly stunned, awed look didn’t leave his face for hours, and he kept glancing at it like he couldn’t believe the thing was there. “<em>Always turning me onto the new shit, Mi.” </em>Miles remembers him saying, laying on the floor and blasting <em>Black Star </em>to find out just how much he could make the floor vibrate with the haunting tones of Bowie. It was just an upgrade of his usual gear, really, but Miles would be lying if he said it didn’t make his chest swell with satisfaction. Alex was fiddling around with it now, arm holding up his head and hip cocked as he turned the dials for the balance.</p><p>“Did ya know there’s a radio button on ‘ere, Mi?”</p><p>There’s a spread on the table. Crackers, biscuits, olives and a variety of cheeses that they’ve been sampling along with the Merlot. Miles was just starting on a herb-strong cracker when Alex had gotten up to choose a song, and enough time had passed for him to wipe away the crumbs of the second one now. It weren’t half decent, that.</p><p>“Al, just put anything on.”</p><p>“No.” He doesn’t turn around, clearly far absorbed, but not far enough to wiggle his hips in Miles’ direction. Miles appreciates the view for a moment, but then realises that Alex wasn’t sifting through his records but leisurely scrolling through Miles’ phone. He leans back, propping his ankles up on the dining table’s footrest.</p><p>“I’ve a dinner playlist you know.” He absently picks through the olive plate for one of the garlicky green ones.</p><p>“You’ve a <em>sex </em>playlist. Multiple ones.”</p><p>Miles splutters, olive brine making his throat burn. “Bloody minx! I don’t…How do you know what they are?”</p><p>Alex shrugs with one shoulder, but he turns enough that Miles can see that cheeky smile squished under his hand. “Doctor Hook and the Bazz Master in the same playlist, you dirty dog.”</p><p>Miles eyes him, then scoffs, shaking his head as he picks up his wine glass. Before he takes a sip, he drawls in his put-on upper-class voice, “The tastes of High Society.” He keeps the straight face up until the second Alex snickers and he breaks, grinning.</p><p>“One a lowly man such as I couldn’t <em>possibly</em> begin to understand,” Alex drawls back, but he finally stops on something with a little hum. Miles tries to crane his head to see but he’s already put the phone back on lock. He slides it away on the cabinet shelf, next to the fancy decorative pot—dubiously used for storing spare paper clips and rusty coins—and spins around as the bluesy bass line fills the room.</p><p>Alex quirks a brow at him, slowly rocking his hips as the drum kicks in. It’s a dirty beat, and Miles feels himself nodding along. “Good enough for ye?” Alex slinks back to the table, picking up his glass where he left it next to a bowl of salted cashews.</p><p>Miles raises his glass to it as the soulful voice of Tina Turner floats over the top of the song. “Good enough for me.”</p><p>Alex smirks into his drink. He’s dressed down in a rolling stones tee and brown jeans, a usual getup for one of their nights. It’s the one where they show up at each other’s place with a bottle of wine, a contribution to the nibbles and a whole new playlist of tunes to try out. Miles came dressed appropriately, he thinks, one of his older patterned shirts and a pair of soft dark trousers that wouldn’t cost an arm and a leg were it to get wine stained. Mistakes were not to be repeated.  </p><p>As Tina tells them how her lover <em>took me for a ride and rattled me down to my shoes </em>Alex begins to sway again, glass held high over his head as he mouths along. Miles reaches for a handful of Bombay mix and smiles as Alex points at him and sings about how <em>my lover was an undercover agent for the blues. </em>Miles bobs his head, but it’s not enough for Al because he crooks his pointed finger, beckoning him in as he backs away from the table to where the speakers are the loudest.</p><p>Miles had anticipated this. Dancing was another part of it, and he always had songs to cut some interesting shapes with, but this was dangerous because Alex was dancing like <em>that</em> and Miles was pushing his chair back to join him in the middle of the room.</p><p><em>I was just an innocent bystander. </em>Alex didn’t waste any time getting his hands on him. He grabs at his shoulders and laughs at Miles’ exaggerated shoulder shimmy. <em>He just kept getting kinkier </em>Tina sings and Alex exclaims, “Good lord, he’s done it before,” in that snooty BBC presenter voice. Miles digs his fingers into his waist which makes him squirm and then they’re turning, socked feet light on the auburn rug.</p><p>“<em>Just too hot to handle,” </em>Miles sings with Tina and Alex grabs his hand, raises it high and uses it to give him a slow spin. Miles gives it the right amount of flair and returns it to spin Alex way too fast which makes him laugh and then they’re swaying together again.</p><p>“<em>So bad</em>,” Alex sings, and his forehead is resting on his so Miles can feel his breath warm against his neck. “<em>He was an undercover agent for the blues</em>.<em>” </em>He takes the last note off on a tangent, taking it low and then pursing his lips to change the sound indulgently. Miles is pursing his own, quite tightly, and when Alex finally looks at him it makes him cut the note short as they descend into another laugh.</p><p>“It was good,” Miles says, then hiccups quite violently which makes Alex snort, but he’s smiling and takes a hold of his hips as the song slips into a guitar solo. They step it up, holding on a little tighter and Miles knows Alex is pushing him because he’s getting into it now; flicking his hair, doing sly drops and singing up at Miles as he slowly pushes himself up again. Miles closes his eyes, because that’s safer than watching Al do <em>that, </em>and sings along with Tina’s increasing frustration at her lover. Alex squeezes the grip on his waist and rocks against him in time and Miles can’t help himself but slip his hands down his back, pulling him in closer.</p><p>Alex goes with it, his own eyes closed now. Miles’ heart skips when he wriggles, and he lets him go only for him to spin and press his back to Miles’ chest. He’s got his jean clad bum swaying over Miles’ crotch now and Miles doesn’t know whether to laugh or moan. It’s risky is what it is, and he knows Alex is smirking because he knows it too. Miles throws an arm over him and Alex noses over the skin, tucking his chin over it.</p><p>“S’thinkin, me and you yeah? On Strictly. We’d make a right pair.”</p><p>Alex laughs on his arm, his breath fanning over the fine hairs.  “The more you say it won’t make’t happen.”</p><p>It’s a subject Miles likes to bring up now and then, ever since his mum started sending him WhatsApp links to her favourite dances of the night. Alex had begun to get them too, and from then on it’s been a running gag that they’ll start their own act for the show. The list of their possible dances grows with each new suggestion Alex pulls out of his arse. Miles asks now, arm tightening as he takes control of the swaying, “What would we do?” The rhythm blues works through him, softening the angles he makes with his hips to roll his body side to side.</p><p>Alex reaches up to take his hand and tilts his head up so Miles can see his Adam’s apple rise and fall as he says, “Fucking Foxtrot, me and you. And it’ll be to <em>Paint it, Black.</em>”</p><p>Miles snorts, imagining them on <em>Strictly Come Dancing.</em> Leather jackets, feathers, and the Spanish inspired song of the Rolling Stones. This suggestion would actually work, horrifyingly, he’s intrigued either way. “That’ll be a right laugh.”</p><p>The song is at the crescendo, the brass building up over Tina’s poignant cries of a woman scorned from her lover’s double life as a spy and Miles relaxes his arm so Alex can slip away to the refreshments. He scoops up a handful of Bombay mix and crunches on them at the same time he makes a muffled distressed sound when he picks up the Merlot.</p><p>“The wine is getting warm!” He coughs out, because priorities.</p><p>Miles just shakes his head, laughing at him but he leaves for the kitchen to go and find the wine cooler. It was another gift, a handy little thing that slides nicely into an open bottle to chill it from the inside out. It’s in the freezer, wedged where Miles doesn’t remember putting it last time. As he’s prying it out he hears the familiar guitar riff of the Beatles, over of which is Alex’s rousing jeer.</p><p>“Oh <em>Miles</em>!” He hears as he skids out of the kitchen. Alex is sprawled on the settee, and when he sees Miles with the cooler he beams, arms outstretched. Miles grins and dramatically presents the cooling stick with bended knee as he sings out, “<em>Oh Anna!”</em></p><p>Alex plucks it from his hands and reaches around for the bottle. It’s tricky to do with one hand and Miles watches him struggle for a second before taking pity and snatching it away to <em>do the bloody thing meself, </em>he mutters, fingers growing numb from the frozen stick.</p><p><em>Girl before you go now, I want you to know now…</em> croons through the speakers. Alex is humming along, and Miles successfully removes the cork by balancing the bottle on his knee. He slides the cooler in, and the stopper wedges it closed.</p><p>Alex makes hands at him, and Miles hands over the bottle. “Give it a coupla’ minutes.” Alex takes it, but he also clamps a hand over Miles’ wrist, pulling him down onto the settee with him. Miles holds himself up with an arm, resisting to be completely pulled down. “I need to get me glass.”</p><p>Alex cocks his head, and that pale hand squeezes his wrist gently. It’s dusty with the crumbs of the Bombay mix. “Share mine.”</p><p>Miles gives him a look. “We’re not that young anymore.”</p><p>The curve of Alex’s brow is challenging, but he lets Miles go, watching as he goes back to the table.</p><p>“Fancy a ritz,” he says, but Miles is already picking up a saucer of them. He dumps some more Bombay mix on top, pops an olive in his mouth and takes the bounty back to the settee. Alex, watching him, sings out with a reaching hand to the offering, “Chanteux au moi, mon cheri!”</p><p>Miles holds the food up high and raises his glass to Alex as they belt out, “<em>All of my life, I’ve been searching for a girl to love me. Like I, love you.”</em> Alex reaches out again and Miles carefully sits next to him, placing the saucer to the side.</p><p>When he’s settled Alex leans in, theatrically sombre with those furrowed brows, and raises a hand to the back of Miles’ head. His fingers dig in, and their foreheads press in close. “<em>But every girl I’ve ever had breaks my heart and leaves me sad,</em>” he sings, and Miles listens. He closes his eyes and joins him with the next part, feeling the fingers move up to make a claw at the top of his head.</p><p>“<em>What am I supposed to do?” </em>They harmonise, and it’s an easy interval to jump back and forth with. The fingers scratch delightfully, and his nose brushes against Al’s. “Oh Anna,” Alex rumbles. He smells like spices. Aromatic, Miles breathes it in.</p><p>“Get down from that tree, girl.” Miles takes over the song, smiling when the fingers stop briefly. They pick up again with renewed pressure.</p><p>“Oh, Anna’s climbed the tree again.” Alex turns his head, cheek now pressing against Miles’ forehead and he’s smiling. Miles can hear it. He throws his arms over Miles’ shoulders and squeezes, hugging him tight. The actual lyrics have been abandoned now, but that’s just the nature of these nights, inescapable really.</p><p>“She’s climbed so high now, and she could fall, fall so high!”</p><p>“And break…her chin,” Alex rumbles, singing each word purposely. He’s gone out of time with the actual song but obviously gives fuck all about it. Miles nuzzles his nose into the arch of his neck, and he keeps at it enough to get a chuckle. The arms loosen and as the Beatles carry on wailing about letting Anna go Miles pulls back to pick up his glass.</p><p>He gets a couple inches away before, out of nowhere, he gets a hard peck on the cheek. It pulls a startled smile from him. Alex is watching, eyes low but with no less heat than before. He licks his lips, which makes Miles’ heart thud, and then nods to the side where his hand is still outstretched. “Pass me a ritz?”</p><p>Miles does. He picks up his glass too. There’s not much left so he tips the whole thing back and sets the glass back down. Alex has two ritz biscuits between his fingers and he’s sipping on his glass as he fingers through the rest in the saucer. Miles tuts at him, and Alex whips his head up to smirk at him.</p><p>“Gonna complain ‘bout me manners?”</p><p>“I’ve got to try, ain’t I?”</p><p>“Don’t need much from the basics. Please, thank ya, you’re so <em>very</em> welcome.” He shuffles forward and Miles feels like prey under that pointed gaze. “My pleasure,” he murmurs, then shoves the whole ritz into his mouth. Whilst chewing, he brings the last one pinched between his fingers up to prod at Miles’ mouth.</p><p>It probably says a lot that there’s zero hesitation between them when Miles tips his chin and Alex slides the biscuit in neatly. It’s small, so not a problem getting in. What <em>is</em> a problem, though, is that Alex watches the move with a bit more intensity than required. Miles chews it normally, but then Alex goes and brings his fingers to his mouth to lick the biscuit dust off.</p><p>It’s gone quiet, and it’s not just because the song had finished. Miles still doesn’t know what’s playing. He’s had a playlist during dinner, but since Alex had fiddled with it he doesn’t know if it’s just random stuff playing or one of those pre-made ‘For You’ selections.</p><p>He gets a pretty good idea of what Alex’s plan was when he takes the saucer away from between them and a song that isn’t normally on their usual playlists starts. Alex’s hand slides to his shoulder and in the next second he’s singing right into Miles’ ear.</p><p>“<em>I just sort of always feel sick without you baby.”</em></p><p>It’s not as melodic as the recorded version playing out around them. It’s more as if he’s talking the words, and his warm breath tickles Miles’ ear. But there’s a bigger issue now, because Miles feels like his heart is going to jump out of his chest. They’ve crossed many lines before, slowly but surely, he’s sure they’ve crossed some tonight even, but Alex has never done <em>this.</em></p><p>“<em>Nothing really sticks without you baby,” </em>he croons, and Miles almost jumps at the feel of teeth nipping at his earlobe. “<em>Ain’t I fallen in love?”</em></p><p>There’s nothing really to prepare him for Alex, twisting so suddenly. He swings his legs over Miles’ lap and settles his weight over him just in time for the next verse.</p><p>“<em>It’s just the pits without you baby.” </em>He’s got his hands on Miles’ shoulders, but he takes them off so he can take the frozen claws of Miles’ own hands and place it on his hips. He eyes him as he does so and waits until Miles curls his fingers in before rising forward to grip the back of the settee behind Miles. He bends his head, hair falling against Miles’ cheek and says, <em>“It’s like everyone’s a fucking dick without you, baby</em>. <em>Ain’t I fallen in love?”</em> He rumbles, nose sliding down Miles’ cheek. It’s red, he knows it is, and he’s pretty sure if Alex pressed a bit closer he would be able to hear the faint sounds of Miles shouting at himself to <em>not freak out</em>.</p><p>Miles feels friction in his lap, and he realises that Alex is <em>grindi—</em>dancing with the song. He’s swaying, purposely swivelling those talented hips and it’s all Miles can do to hold on and not react too embarrassingly.</p><p>“<em>You bet I’m loopy alright,</em>” Alex sighs, and it’s the tight rise in his voice that makes Miles relax. They may be smashing a lot of rules, but that was a laugh right there. He heard it. He relaxes because it’s still <em>them</em>, how it always is. Miles exhales, fingers slipping into the pockets of those jeans. Alex hums, wiggling his bum, and there’s suddenly a warm mouth under his ear. “<em>And I just don’t recognise this fool, that you, have made me.” </em></p><p>Alex doesn’t finish the verse, but his mouth is moving and Miles grunts, shifting desperately because he didn’t factor in neck kissing in this survival plan of ‘what happens when Alex decides to give him a lap dance’. Any appropriate action seems just as inappropriate, and Miles thinks <em>to hell with it</em> and squeezes the jeaned bum cradled in his hands. If he were any less perceptive of this man he might have just missed that hitch in his breath. Alex must know that he knows, of course he does.</p><p>“<em>And as your shrinking figure blows a kiss</em>.” He continues, the little professional. His lips drag over the sensitive skin to accentuate the point. “<em>I catch and smash it on my lips</em>.”</p><p>“<em>Darling, I can’t seem to quit,</em>” Miles joins in, secretly enjoying the little jolt he makes. Clearly, Alex didn’t expect him to contribute to the song, so Miles proves him wrong. He harmonises easily into it, and Alex picks his head up to look down at him, lips parted, and eyes distractedly caught on his face as their voices blend, telling each other how they’re <em>completely falling to bits.</em></p><p>Alex shuffles forward afterwards, knees digging further into the back of the chair and he moves his hands from the back of the chair to Miles’ nape, sliding up to nestle within those short strands. “<em>I really might be losing it</em>.” He rocks forward, letting Miles guide him, and rests his forehead back onto his. “<em>The idea that you’ve existed all along</em>.” He closes his eyes, “<em>is ridiculous</em>.”</p><p>Miles breathes, sings, but it’s shaky and it sounds like he’s just talking now, “<em>Baby</em> <em>I don’t know what to say.</em>”</p><p>They pause, and it’s the song that does the rest now. Alex says nothing, he’s stopped, but his fingers tighten as his recorded self sings, “<em>Baby we ought to…fuck. Seven years of bad luck out the powder room mirror.”</em></p><p>Miles opens his eyes and sees Alex already there.</p><p>
  <em>“Could I have made it any clearer?”</em>
</p><p>There’s desperation in those eyes. Miles own reflection shining back at him. He doesn’t need to ask, by the almost painful twist in his hair, by the tilt of his head, by the parted lips, eyes frantically searching and finding—<em>finally—</em>what they needed.</p><p>The Alex in the speakers belts out <em>love </em>and they surge together, desperate, sweet, <em>gorgeous. </em>Miles sighs, tasting the Merlot and those sweet spices invade his tongue. He moans, and feels Alex too, a vibration so thick he can almost swallow it. <em>Love, like an ache in the jaw, </em>and Miles cups one side of his face, fingers feeling the movement of his jaw, his chin as he’s kissed like none have before. It’s the best thing they could do, an unfurling of pleasure so delicately intense he wants to drown in it, to bathe in the rays of it.</p><p>
  <em>“You’re the first day of Spring with a septum piercing, Little Miss Sweet Dreams, Tennessee.”</em>
</p><p>The music carries on, even as speaker Alex’s belting number fades. It’s a march, a statement that Miles feels solidify as they wrap around each other. One of Alex’s hand has fallen from his hair to trail down his neck, stopping over his sternum. His heart lay only to the side.</p><p>They’re grinning, he can feel it, those happy wrinkles, the stretched mouth pressed against his own. He slides his hand down to feel it with his fingers and gets Alex pulling back to nip at them. He can only smile, and it’s not a lot keeping him back from attacking that pretty mouth when Alex rubs his palm over his skin and his face breaks out into the biggest smiles of the night.</p><p>“Thank ya, Mi,” he says, then ducks his head, head butting against him. Miles frowns, but then slowly grins as affection as subtle as a fucking earthquake rattles the very structure of his bones.</p><p>“Ey, look who’s gone all polite now!” He slides his hands down even further to get to his belly, fingers light and tickly. The yelp that commences with the jolt upwards to get away is the leverage he needs to pick Al up from under his knees and send him falling onto his back to the cushion below.</p><p>Alex’s eyes glint in interest, that hooded gaze enchanting the tender grip of the strings of Miles’ self-control. He slowly works his hand up the leg of those jeans, hearing that breathy noise come to grace his ears again. It’s a musical riff he wants to play again and again, and Alex is perfectly tuned to him.</p><p>He leans in, lips softly dragging over the bobbing of his throat, bites down at the thin skin down the side and hears his instrument sing back to him. “Gorgeous, baby, aren’t ya?” he croons, and hears Alex moan, louder now as his eyes flutter open.</p><p>Something is playing, low and familiar through the air. Miles watches Alex watch him, sees the challenging quirk he gives him, a small smile peeking through those pink lips Miles had kissed not a moment ago. He feels the mirth bubbling up in him, so he just shakes his head, hiding his laugh into the crook of his elbow.</p><p>“You’re a bloody minx.”</p><p>Alex shrugs, breath shaky now as he lifts an arm to sink his fingers into Miles’ hair again. “Worked, didn’t it?” His sheepish confession makes the swell in Miles’ chest grow warmer, and he deals with it by wrapping Alex up nice and tight in his arms. He says something, but its muffled, so Miles pulls back a bit to see Alex watching him, hair askew and beautiful. “So, will you?”</p><p>Miles just nods, because the words he wants to say have gone and left him at the look Alex is giving him.</p><p>“Good, that’s good,” he sighs, smiles, and his hands slip down to the buttons of his shirt. A couple buttons are already undone. “Now get this off.” He bucks up into Miles and it’s clear they’re going to have an interesting night ahead. Its already a given as it is.</p><p>This new dance requires an outfit change, and as it stands Miles plans to dance into the early morning. Tomorrow too. Probably, most definitely. Yes.</p><p>As the half full bottle of Merlot warms up beside the settee, Dr Hook’s ‘<em>Sharing the Night Together’ </em>plays on in the background. The queued playlist hits the end of the line, and <em>Slow Dancing in a Burning Room </em>is the first song to play under the ‘For You’ recommended selection.</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Dance me to your beauty with a burning violin<br/>Dance me through the panic 'til I'm gathered safely in<br/>Lift me like an olive branch and be my homeward dove<br/>Dance me to the end of love<br/>Dance me to the end of love</em>
</p><p>Leonard Cohen</p><p>fin</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>Songs (in order of appearance):</strong>
</p><ol>
<li>Black Star - David Bowie</li>
<li>Undercover Agent for the Blues - Tina Turner</li>
<li>Paint It, Black - The Rolling Stones</li>
<li>Anna (Go to Him) - The Beatles</li>
<li>Sweet Dreams, TN - The Last Shadow Puppets</li>
<li>Sharing the Night Together - Dr Hook</li>
<li>Slow Dancing in a Burning Room - John Mayer</li>
</ol><p>
  <strong>Cultural references:</strong>
</p><ul>
<li>Strictly Come Dancing: Like the US ‘Dancing with the Stars’.</li>
<li>“The Bazz Master” = Barry White</li>
</ul>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hope you enjoyed! Also, I'd highly recommend listening to those songs to really get a feel of the story.<br/>Much love, La x</p><p>Tumblr: lanatural-books</p></blockquote><div class="children module" id="children">
  <b class="heading">Works inspired by this one:</b>
  <ul>
    <li>
        <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29842593">Play me a song that you like (you can bet I'll know every line)</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Badinee/pseuds/Badinee">Badinee</a>
    </li>
  </ul>
</div></div></div>
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